Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Insecure-a-tease

Insecure-a-tease

I don’t know what happened or how we got here
But I need to file a report
A great injustice has been done
And I’m here to turn myself in as the responsible one
I don’t quite know when it happened
But it seems like I’ve found myself in dispersion
My dreamer self stands aside as I flounder in reality
My desperate voice keeps her away and holds my pussy hostage
She’s dragging her into the dark and sinister underbelly of my being
Drugs of choice being hopelessness, apathy and a huge lack of self-esteem
My pussy is slowly deflating
She’s up for sale on the streets of my heart
The price is decreasing by the minute and my voice of reason is busy in counseling
Desperate convinced reason that she’s living in a fantasy
Now she’s off to seek stability
But she left this madhouse a long time ago
So I turned to logic but desperate had already gotten to her
Turned her around in circles with compound questions and unanswerable existential debates
She’s curled up in a corner huddled in the lowest echelons of my brain
And it seems that desperate found the last trace of depression, called her up and she who never comes to a party empty-handed brought along negativity
They’re the triple-thread of evil in the inner workings of my anatomy
And poor innocent little pussy is drying up under their fury
I tried the police but the receptionist hung up on me
So I’m going to tie the last red ribbon of bravery around my forehead and go in Rambo style!
Put an end to bad dates, where pussy’s been placed on the table, the centre-piece, the ultimate prize for anyone willing to provide a hint of intimacy and the slightest compliment
In her doped up state she doesn’t stand a chance
I’m her only option and it’s taking every ounce of pride, “oh my god”
I completely forgot about Pride, I race passed the three cronies, through my nasal membrane, over a passed out respect and head towards the eyes, there she is, right next to vanity, staring at their awesomeness in the reflection of my corneas
I know how to handle her, she reacts to begging and groveling, it burns her to see anyone acting beneath themselves
So we snatch poor pussy from the table
And in a rather hostile take-over, reconfigure my being
Rationality returns and joy soothes me back to pleasure
But don’t be fooled somewhere in the darkness I still hear the whispers of desperation
And quiver at the thought of her return.

I don’t know what happened or how we got here
But I need to file a report
A great injustice has been done
And I’m here to turn myself in as the responsible one
I don’t quite know when it happened
But it seems like I’ve found myself in dispersion
My dreamer self stands aside as I flounder in reality
My desperate voice keeps her away and holds my pussy hostage
She’s dragging her into the dark and sinister underbelly of my being
Drugs of choice being hopelessness, apathy and a huge lack of self-esteem
My pussy is slowly deflating
She’s up for sale on the streets of my heart
The price is decreasing by the minute and my voice of reason is busy in counseling
Desperate convinced reason that she’s living in a fantasy
Now she’s off to seek stability
But she left this madhouse a long time ago
So I turned to logic but desperate had already gotten to her
Turned her around in circles with compound questions and unanswerable existential debates
She’s curled up in a corner huddled in the lowest echelons of my brain
And it seems that desperate found the last trace of depression, called her up and she who never comes to a party empty-handed brought along negativity
They’re the triple-thread of evil in the inner workings of my anatomy
And poor innocent little pussy is drying up under their fury
I tried the police but the receptionist hung up on me
So I’m going to tie the last red ribbon of bravery around my forehead and go in Rambo style!
Put an end to bad dates, where pussy’s been placed on the table, the centre-piece, the ultimate prize for anyone willing to provide a hint of intimacy and the slightest compliment
In her doped up state she doesn’t stand a chance
I’m her only option and it’s taking every ounce of pride, “oh my god”
I completely forgot about Pride, I race passed the three cronies, through my nasal membrane, over a passed out respect and head towards the eyes, there she is, right next to vanity, staring at their awesomeness in the reflection of my corneas
I know how to handle her, she reacts to begging and groveling, it burns her to see anyone acting beneath themselves
So we snatch poor pussy from the table
And in a rather hostile take-over, reconfigure my being
Rationality returns and joy soothes me back to pleasure
But don’t be fooled somewhere in the darkness I still hear the whispers of desperation
And quiver at the thought of her return.

Ameera Patel

Featured Poem:

Blocked Culture

Featured Poem:

Blocked Culture

Trapped in closed communities, scared to step out of the gates? Breeding inwards, Yes, I’m Indian, a born Muslim, but what does that really mean?

In this newly found Arabian oil terrorist ground, women start to cover up, sheeted from head to toe, it’s becoming the newest fashion show, to defend your roots and ancestry and do you know what’s really funny, is that this trend comes right back down to me, when we tease and joke that my cousin, three names long, that’s Ziyaad Mohomed Adam, will be turned away by customs officials, he might have a bomb!

He fits the terrorist description you see.

This Muslim guy is discriminated against due to his/my family.

I’m tired of losing my identity!

But I feel like Achilles, weakness resides in my lower heels, my knees just can’t bend, have to move to grow to change, to lift my face, to the rays again, to reclaim again and breathe.

My body freezes in the breeze that moves only the trees.

I’m tired of all the words circling and circling.

How do we let go?

Into more, into love, why don’t we slip in, dive in, allow it to consume us?

How can we deny this?

The thought lives and we talk and we talk and we talk, but when will we walk?

I’m ready to fly.

Let the talking die, let the talking die, let the talking die

Why do we stop?

Why is everything just too much?

Are we stuck?

Trapped in closed communities, scared to step out of the gates? Breeding inwards, Yes, I’m Indian, a born Muslim, but what does that really mean?

In this newly found Arabian oil terrorist ground, women start to cover up, sheeted from head to toe, it’s becoming the newest fashion show, to defend your roots and ancestry and do you know what’s really funny, is that this trend comes right back down to me, when we tease and joke that my cousin, three names long, that’s Ziyaad Mohomed Adam, will be turned away by customs officials, he might have a bomb!

He fits the terrorist description you see.

This Muslim guy is discriminated against due to his/my family.

I’m tired of losing my identity!

But I feel like Achilles, weakness resides in my lower heels, my knees just can’t bend, have to move to grow to change, to lift my face, to the rays again, to reclaim again and breathe.

My body freezes in the breeze that moves only the trees.

I’m tired of all the words circling and circling.

How do we let go?

Into more, into love, why don’t we slip in, dive in, allow it to consume us?

How can we deny this?

The thought lives and we talk and we talk and we talk, but when will we walk?

Biography

Ameera Patel is a Jo’burg born actress, writer and poet. She completed her degree in Theatre and Performance at the University of Cape Town in 2005, where she was on the Dean’s Merit list and became part of the Golden Key Society. Her professional theatre performance record includes The Suit (2006), The Bonfire Theatre Company (2006), Victory (2007), Romeo and Juliet (2008), The Insatiables (2008), On Cue Theatre Company (2009), Hot Seat Confessions (2009), Ma Lindi and the Sex Strike (2010).

She is one of the founding members of the Rite 2 Speak poetry collective. Rite 2 Speak started in 2004 and has performed at various corporate events, festivals, bars and events with some of the highlights including National Women’s Day (2008), Urban Voices (2009), The Grahamstown Festival (2009) and Heritage day in Portugal (2008).

Her current projects include Rite 2 Speak gigs, Hamlet with the Framework team and facilitating writing workshops for the Jozi Book Fair.

Ameera Patel

Biography

Ameera Patel is a Jo’burg born actress, writer and poet. She completed her degree in Theatre and Performance at the University of Cape Town in 2005, where she was on the Dean’s Merit list and became part of the Golden Key Society. Her professional theatre performance record includes The Suit (2006), The Bonfire Theatre Company (2006), Victory (2007), Romeo and Juliet (2008), The Insatiables (2008), On Cue Theatre Company (2009), Hot Seat Confessions (2009), Ma Lindi and the Sex Strike (2010).

She is one of the founding members of the Rite 2 Speak poetry collective. Rite 2 Speak started in 2004 and has performed at various corporate events, festivals, bars and events with some of the highlights including National Women’s Day (2008), Urban Voices (2009), The Grahamstown Festival (2009) and Heritage day in Portugal (2008).

Her current projects include Rite 2 Speak gigs, Hamlet with the Framework team and facilitating writing workshops for the Jozi Book Fair.

Insecure-a-tease

Insecure-a-tease

I don’t know what happened or how we got here
But I need to file a report
A great injustice has been done
And I’m here to turn myself in as the responsible one
I don’t quite know when it happened
But it seems like I’ve found myself in dispersion
My dreamer self stands aside as I flounder in reality
My desperate voice keeps her away and holds my pussy hostage
She’s dragging her into the dark and sinister underbelly of my being
Drugs of choice being hopelessness, apathy and a huge lack of self-esteem
My pussy is slowly deflating
She’s up for sale on the streets of my heart
The price is decreasing by the minute and my voice of reason is busy in counseling
Desperate convinced reason that she’s living in a fantasy
Now she’s off to seek stability
But she left this madhouse a long time ago
So I turned to logic but desperate had already gotten to her
Turned her around in circles with compound questions and unanswerable existential debates
She’s curled up in a corner huddled in the lowest echelons of my brain
And it seems that desperate found the last trace of depression, called her up and she who never comes to a party empty-handed brought along negativity
They’re the triple-thread of evil in the inner workings of my anatomy
And poor innocent little pussy is drying up under their fury
I tried the police but the receptionist hung up on me
So I’m going to tie the last red ribbon of bravery around my forehead and go in Rambo style!
Put an end to bad dates, where pussy’s been placed on the table, the centre-piece, the ultimate prize for anyone willing to provide a hint of intimacy and the slightest compliment
In her doped up state she doesn’t stand a chance
I’m her only option and it’s taking every ounce of pride, “oh my god”
I completely forgot about Pride, I race passed the three cronies, through my nasal membrane, over a passed out respect and head towards the eyes, there she is, right next to vanity, staring at their awesomeness in the reflection of my corneas
I know how to handle her, she reacts to begging and groveling, it burns her to see anyone acting beneath themselves
So we snatch poor pussy from the table
And in a rather hostile take-over, reconfigure my being
Rationality returns and joy soothes me back to pleasure
But don’t be fooled somewhere in the darkness I still hear the whispers of desperation
And quiver at the thought of her return.

I don’t know what happened or how we got here
But I need to file a report
A great injustice has been done
And I’m here to turn myself in as the responsible one
I don’t quite know when it happened
But it seems like I’ve found myself in dispersion
My dreamer self stands aside as I flounder in reality
My desperate voice keeps her away and holds my pussy hostage
She’s dragging her into the dark and sinister underbelly of my being
Drugs of choice being hopelessness, apathy and a huge lack of self-esteem
My pussy is slowly deflating
She’s up for sale on the streets of my heart
The price is decreasing by the minute and my voice of reason is busy in counseling
Desperate convinced reason that she’s living in a fantasy
Now she’s off to seek stability
But she left this madhouse a long time ago
So I turned to logic but desperate had already gotten to her
Turned her around in circles with compound questions and unanswerable existential debates
She’s curled up in a corner huddled in the lowest echelons of my brain
And it seems that desperate found the last trace of depression, called her up and she who never comes to a party empty-handed brought along negativity
They’re the triple-thread of evil in the inner workings of my anatomy
And poor innocent little pussy is drying up under their fury
I tried the police but the receptionist hung up on me
So I’m going to tie the last red ribbon of bravery around my forehead and go in Rambo style!
Put an end to bad dates, where pussy’s been placed on the table, the centre-piece, the ultimate prize for anyone willing to provide a hint of intimacy and the slightest compliment
In her doped up state she doesn’t stand a chance
I’m her only option and it’s taking every ounce of pride, “oh my god”
I completely forgot about Pride, I race passed the three cronies, through my nasal membrane, over a passed out respect and head towards the eyes, there she is, right next to vanity, staring at their awesomeness in the reflection of my corneas
I know how to handle her, she reacts to begging and groveling, it burns her to see anyone acting beneath themselves
So we snatch poor pussy from the table
And in a rather hostile take-over, reconfigure my being
Rationality returns and joy soothes me back to pleasure
But don’t be fooled somewhere in the darkness I still hear the whispers of desperation
And quiver at the thought of her return.

Featured Poem:

Blocked Culture

Featured Poem:

Blocked Culture

Trapped in closed communities, scared to step out of the gates? Breeding inwards, Yes, I’m Indian, a born Muslim, but what does that really mean?

In this newly found Arabian oil terrorist ground, women start to cover up, sheeted from head to toe, it’s becoming the newest fashion show, to defend your roots and ancestry and do you know what’s really funny, is that this trend comes right back down to me, when we tease and joke that my cousin, three names long, that’s Ziyaad Mohomed Adam, will be turned away by customs officials, he might have a bomb!

He fits the terrorist description you see.

This Muslim guy is discriminated against due to his/my family.

I’m tired of losing my identity!

But I feel like Achilles, weakness resides in my lower heels, my knees just can’t bend, have to move to grow to change, to lift my face, to the rays again, to reclaim again and breathe.

My body freezes in the breeze that moves only the trees.

I’m tired of all the words circling and circling.

How do we let go?

Into more, into love, why don’t we slip in, dive in, allow it to consume us?

How can we deny this?

The thought lives and we talk and we talk and we talk, but when will we walk?

I’m ready to fly.

Let the talking die, let the talking die, let the talking die

Why do we stop?

Why is everything just too much?

Are we stuck?

Trapped in closed communities, scared to step out of the gates? Breeding inwards, Yes, I’m Indian, a born Muslim, but what does that really mean?

In this newly found Arabian oil terrorist ground, women start to cover up, sheeted from head to toe, it’s becoming the newest fashion show, to defend your roots and ancestry and do you know what’s really funny, is that this trend comes right back down to me, when we tease and joke that my cousin, three names long, that’s Ziyaad Mohomed Adam, will be turned away by customs officials, he might have a bomb!

He fits the terrorist description you see.

This Muslim guy is discriminated against due to his/my family.

I’m tired of losing my identity!

But I feel like Achilles, weakness resides in my lower heels, my knees just can’t bend, have to move to grow to change, to lift my face, to the rays again, to reclaim again and breathe.

My body freezes in the breeze that moves only the trees.

I’m tired of all the words circling and circling.

How do we let go?

Into more, into love, why don’t we slip in, dive in, allow it to consume us?

How can we deny this?

The thought lives and we talk and we talk and we talk, but when will we walk?

How does this featured poem make you feel?

Insecure-a-tease

Insecure-a-tease

I don’t know what happened or how we got here
But I need to file a report
A great injustice has been done
And I’m here to turn myself in as the responsible one
I don’t quite know when it happened
But it seems like I’ve found myself in dispersion
My dreamer self stands aside as I flounder in reality
My desperate voice keeps her away and holds my pussy hostage
She’s dragging her into the dark and sinister underbelly of my being
Drugs of choice being hopelessness, apathy and a huge lack of self-esteem
My pussy is slowly deflating
She’s up for sale on the streets of my heart
The price is decreasing by the minute and my voice of reason is busy in counseling
Desperate convinced reason that she’s living in a fantasy
Now she’s off to seek stability
But she left this madhouse a long time ago
So I turned to logic but desperate had already gotten to her
Turned her around in circles with compound questions and unanswerable existential debates
She’s curled up in a corner huddled in the lowest echelons of my brain
And it seems that desperate found the last trace of depression, called her up and she who never comes to a party empty-handed brought along negativity
They’re the triple-thread of evil in the inner workings of my anatomy
And poor innocent little pussy is drying up under their fury
I tried the police but the receptionist hung up on me
So I’m going to tie the last red ribbon of bravery around my forehead and go in Rambo style!
Put an end to bad dates, where pussy’s been placed on the table, the centre-piece, the ultimate prize for anyone willing to provide a hint of intimacy and the slightest compliment
In her doped up state she doesn’t stand a chance
I’m her only option and it’s taking every ounce of pride, “oh my god”
I completely forgot about Pride, I race passed the three cronies, through my nasal membrane, over a passed out respect and head towards the eyes, there she is, right next to vanity, staring at their awesomeness in the reflection of my corneas
I know how to handle her, she reacts to begging and groveling, it burns her to see anyone acting beneath themselves
So we snatch poor pussy from the table
And in a rather hostile take-over, reconfigure my being
Rationality returns and joy soothes me back to pleasure
But don’t be fooled somewhere in the darkness I still hear the whispers of desperation
And quiver at the thought of her return.

I don’t know what happened or how we got here
But I need to file a report
A great injustice has been done
And I’m here to turn myself in as the responsible one
I don’t quite know when it happened
But it seems like I’ve found myself in dispersion
My dreamer self stands aside as I flounder in reality
My desperate voice keeps her away and holds my pussy hostage
She’s dragging her into the dark and sinister underbelly of my being
Drugs of choice being hopelessness, apathy and a huge lack of self-esteem
My pussy is slowly deflating
She’s up for sale on the streets of my heart
The price is decreasing by the minute and my voice of reason is busy in counseling
Desperate convinced reason that she’s living in a fantasy
Now she’s off to seek stability
But she left this madhouse a long time ago
So I turned to logic but desperate had already gotten to her
Turned her around in circles with compound questions and unanswerable existential debates
She’s curled up in a corner huddled in the lowest echelons of my brain
And it seems that desperate found the last trace of depression, called her up and she who never comes to a party empty-handed brought along negativity
They’re the triple-thread of evil in the inner workings of my anatomy
And poor innocent little pussy is drying up under their fury
I tried the police but the receptionist hung up on me
So I’m going to tie the last red ribbon of bravery around my forehead and go in Rambo style!
Put an end to bad dates, where pussy’s been placed on the table, the centre-piece, the ultimate prize for anyone willing to provide a hint of intimacy and the slightest compliment
In her doped up state she doesn’t stand a chance
I’m her only option and it’s taking every ounce of pride, “oh my god”
I completely forgot about Pride, I race passed the three cronies, through my nasal membrane, over a passed out respect and head towards the eyes, there she is, right next to vanity, staring at their awesomeness in the reflection of my corneas
I know how to handle her, she reacts to begging and groveling, it burns her to see anyone acting beneath themselves
So we snatch poor pussy from the table
And in a rather hostile take-over, reconfigure my being
Rationality returns and joy soothes me back to pleasure
But don’t be fooled somewhere in the darkness I still hear the whispers of desperation
And quiver at the thought of her return.